e
farmer felt a twinge of pain in his back he would hurry to
propitiate wise Maren.

This was not sufficient to live on, but her fame increased, and with
it her circle of patients.

Maren herself never understood why she had become so famous; but she
accepted the fact as it was, and turned it to the best account she
could. She took up one thing or another of what she remembered from
her childhood of her mother's good advice--and left the rest to look
after itself; generally she was guided by circumstances as to what
to say and do.

Maren had heard so often that she was a witch, and occasionally
believed it herself. Other times she would marvel at people's
stupidity. But she always thought with a sigh of the days when Soeren
still lived and she was nothing more than his "blockhead"--those
were happy days.

Now she was lonely. Soeren lay under the ground, and every one else
avoided her like the plague, when they did not require her services.
Others met and enjoyed a gossip, but no one thought of running in to
Maren for a cup of coffee. Even her neighbors kept themselves
carefully away, though they often required a helping hand and got it
too. She had but one living friend, who looked to her with
confidence and who was not afraid of her--Ditte.

It was a sad and sorry task to be a wise woman--only more so as it
was not her own choice; but it gave her a livelihood.

CHAPTER IX

DITTE VISITS FAIRYLAND

Ditte was now big enough to venture out alone, and would often run
away from home, without making Maren uneasy. She needed some one to
play with, and sought for playmates in the hamlet and the huts at
the edge of the forest. But the parents would call their children in
when they saw her coming. Eventually the children themselves learned
to beware of her; they would throw stones at her when she came near,
and shout nicknames: bastard and witch's brat. Then she tried
children in other places and met the same fate; at last it dawned
upon her that she stood apart. She was not even sure of the children
at home; just as she was playing with them on the sandhills, making
necklaces and rings of small blue scabious, the mother would run out
and tear the children away.

She had to learn to play alone and be content with the society of
the things around her; which she did. Ditte quickly invested her
playthings with life; sticks and stones were all given a part and
they were wonderfully easy to manage. Almost too wel